


Meet the Morricones

by VoidGhost



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, First Kiss, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, M/M, Major Character Injury, Meet the Family, Miscommunication, hanzo finds mccrees family and is like fuck this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-05
Packaged: 2019-10-22 15:14:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17664968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VoidGhost/pseuds/VoidGhost
Summary: After a mission gone wrong, Hanzo finds himself stranded in what appears to be a frozen wasteland. Injured and stuck in the snow, he expects it to be his last mission. What he doesn't expect is to wake up in a warm house with a jovial woman taking care of him, a woman with a charming personality and a fierce resemblance to a cowboy he knows well.AKA, born from the thought 'what if joel morricone is jesse's brother'





	Meet the Morricones

**Author's Note:**

> like the description says, i started this with the thought of joel morricone being jesse's brother. the rest of the family spawned from there!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Hanzo was fucked.

Not that he hasn’t been expecting this day to come for the last half of his life, but he didn’t expect it to be because of hypothermia. 

He had pictured a more honorable death: by the hands of Talon, or one of his many enemies somehow getting the jump on him. Perhaps by his brother. 

But not like this. Not with his side stained in blood, bruised and beaten with purple ribs and then slowly freezing to death in the snow. 

It was an easy mission. They had gotten what they wanted within hours instead of the two days Winston had estimated. Everybody was riding the high of a job well done during the Orca’s trip back to base. Even Tracer was celebrating, trusting the autopilot AI to take care of itself. 

Then they were hit. 

Turns out, they were tailed by two smaller jets. Flanking the Orca on both sides, they shot out at the engines. Flames erupted from the outside of the Orca, and before Tracer could even blink back to the cockpit, they were descending at an alarming rate. 

The jets circled them and fired at the outside shell, momentarily buying them time. Hanzo grabbed his bow as the Orca fired up the backup engines and maintained a steady altitude, but Tracer warned them that she needed to land as soon as possible. 

The rough ride had everyone in disarray. Weapons were scattered across the floor when a rough patch of turbulence hit, the drinks people began breaking out shattering or making a sticky mess on the walls and floor. Hanzo was sure his knees were soaked from his own sake. 

“We have to get them off us!” McCree had yelled. The buzz of the jets outside and the Orca’s systems maxing out under the strain created a near unbearable cacophony of sound. Hanzo watched as McCree made his way to the bay door and peered through the reinforced window. A jet was hovering just outside, nailing the Orca with a hail of bullets. 

“Tracer? What about the Orca’s guns?” McCree asked into the earpiece, wirelessly connected to their comms attached to their hips. Hanzo turned his back on to listen once it became clear they could not yell over the sound. 

“ _ I can’t get it to respond!”  _ Tracer huffed into the earpiece. Hanzo had never heard her sound so frustrated.  _ “They must have shot them out first! _ ”

“Shit,” McCree huffed. Hanzo watched as he seemed to debate something, his hand flexing on the handle of the bay door. He came to a resigned decision as he turned back to the team, awaiting orders. 

“Everyone, hold on to somethin’,” McCree warned, and Hanzo had an argument on his lips as McCree shoved the door open. 

The sound became deafening. Wind ripped through the carriage and loose articles like backpacks and medkits flew out the door, disappearing to the white ground below. He was abruptly reminded of the climate of this area; cold and heavy with snow. The warm circulated air of the Orca was replaced by the freezing wind outside. 

Hanzo gripped onto the table - bolted down into the floor - and made his way to McCree. Their team leader was peering out the door, trying to spot the jets outside, as Hanzo gripped his flapping serape. 

“ _ What the hell are you doing?!”  _ He tried to yell - his earpiece had gotten lost in the sudden force of wind - loud enough that his throat became sore, but McCree didn’t seem to hear him. 

The black of the jet appeared, floating down from above the Orca, and McCree aimed his Peacekeeper at one of the engines. He shot once, twice, and the engine blew, tossing up a thick flame before the jet descended, twirling in the air as it picked up speed. Without backup engines, the jets were more vulnerable than they were. 

McCree turned to him with a grin - one of his goofy, exhilarated grins, that Hanzo only saw in the heat of battle, and never failed to make his heart burst with aching fondness. 

He said something then - Hanzo couldn’t hear, but saw his lips move. His eyebrows scrunched, trying to make out each word, but his mind couldn’t wrap around it with everything else going on around them. 

“ _ What? _ ” He asked, and this, McCree understood. 

But before he could repeat himself, the second jet flew into view. McCree took aim, but Hanzo had a feeling that something was wrong. The jet was at a different angle than the other; the previous jet was shooting at their weaker areas of the Orca’s shell. This jet was tilted to aim at  _ them _ . 

Hanzo tugged McCree back just as the first hail of bullets tore through the cabin. It narrowly missed the rest of their team; Lucio had shoved Hana aside, and Angela moved to a grip onto one of the seats just before the jet came into view. The bullets began to tear through the the second bay door, across the carriage, and McCree had time to mouth a warning - ineffective, as Hanzo was sure none of them could hear anything - just as the bay doors gave way and put another hole in the ship. 

It created another force that had Hanzo’s heels slipping, even as he braced himself on one of the ship’s wall handles. On the other side of the ship, Reinhardt - an immovable force on his own - held the smaller team members against the wind. Everyone was accounted for, but for how much longer, Hanzo couldn’t tell. 

The hail of bullets abruptly stopped after the bay doors gave way, and Hanzo was only bracing himself for another attack. He could see McCree struggling to close the first set of doors. The strong winds made the task nearly impossible, and Hanzo knew McCree didn’t think that far ahead. He leaned forward to try to help, gripped the handles beside McCree’s hands and  _ pushed _ . 

Nothing. 

An awkward shutter and it slid back into place. He heard McCree say something, deep and frustrated, like a growl. 

Then Hanzo got his second look at the jet. Something was different about it. It had paused in its attack, and as Hanzo watched, its first set of rapid fire guns retreated into its hull, before being replaced by a wider set of weapons. 

Hanzo’s eyes widened. He shoved McCree back, shouted a warning that he was sure no one heard, and waited for impact. 

The jet fired the rockets into the interior of the ship, landing them square on the space above the torn bay doors, and rocking the Orca with their ensuing explosion. 

Hanzo was sure he blacked out during the initial shock. He woke up to someone on top of him - the red serape was undoubtedly McCree’s - as his entire balance seemed off. It took a few disoriented seconds to realize they were tilted dangerously. 

They had all somehow survived the first explosion, but now there was a giant hole in the hull. Hanzo realized they were pinned under the bolted table, having broken halfway off its base from the explosion and protecting them from the debris. From all the monitors on the walls of the Orca, those that weren’t already smashed, big red warning signs blared. 

They were crashing. 

Hanzo briefly checked over McCree - alive, disoriented, and uninjured, except for a bleeding scratch on one cheek. Hanzo clicked his tongue at the man with too much luck. He kept to himself how he hoped McCree’s luck never ran out.

He crawled out from under the table and caught glimpse of the fast-approaching ground. An ominous white expanse that was soon to be disrupted. They were still high enough that the houses below looked as big as the end of a pencil eraser. Hanzo didn’t give himself time to wonder what those people must be thinking of, seeing a flaming plane crashing from the sky. 

Reinhardt had the others huddled under his armor. He had the capacity to brace himself even in the harshest of wind, and for that, Hanzo was grateful they brought him along today. Tracer must be yelling into the comm, as the speakers that once could communicate from the cockpit to the cabin now spewed unintelligible static. 

Hanzo lifted himself onto one of the plane’s seats, gripping onto a seatbelt. He braced himself; calmed himself enough to call upon the dragons. He held his arm up and summoned them. 

Their blue force enchanted his tattoo - uncovered, as he now regretted, the winter chill pickling his skin - and the dragons hovered around his arm before disappearing through the front hull. Moments later, the ship’s descent buffered. He caught sight of a large, blue tail flapping by the open bay doors. He could see them; large beings capable of great destruction holding onto the ship, slowing their fall, protecting the ones their master cares about. 

Their fall slowed enough that Reinhardt eased his grip on the rest of their team. At this rate, they would be cushioned into the snow, like a mother putting her baby down. In the corner of his eye, Hanzo saw McCree sit up from his place beneath the table. Other members of the team quickly strapped themselves into seats on the wall, gripping the handles in case of another impact. Hanzo relaxed into the seat, easing the tension out his shoulders. The last of his fight was worn out of him. 

Then the ship jerked. The jet came back, as the dragons explained to Hanzo; rammed into the side of the Orca with suicidal speeds, permanently destroying the jet and its driver upon impact, but sending the Orca into a spin. 

Hanzo lost his grip on the seat and tumbled; slipped across the floor. His hands passed a wet sticky spot from their drinks earlier as he struggled for purchase. He saw McCree stand up but fall as the Orca gave another rough spin, and as Hanzo lost his grip, his legs meeting empty air out the gaping flaming hole, he saw McCree reach for him. 

Then he was falling.

 

He woke up freezing, his side gushing blood, and what he was sure was at least a bruised rib. 

He knew he hit trees on the way down. The dragons could do little for the spinning ship (were the dragons’ excuse) but they were close enough to the ground that the impact wouldn’t be dangerously rough for the rest of the team. Instead, they focused on softening their master’s fall, and Hanzo thanked them. He could possibly have died then. He could die still.

As he did a once-over of himself, he found that he got punctured by a piece of debris when he was thrown about the cabin of the Orca. He fell in a pillow of snow that wasn’t as soft as he had imagined despite being a couple feet deep. 

He regretted changing out of his long-sleeve shirt when they had piled on to the Orca after the mission. It had been a sleek material that didn’t completely shield him from the cold, but it was some protection while also allowing him access to his bow. He missed it now. 

Once he dug himself out of the snow, he carefully and painfully began to walk in what he hoped was a good direction. The dragons were just as disoriented as him when it came to direction. One hand to his side and the other bracing himself on every tree he passed, Hanzo began to think he wasn’t going to make it out of this. 

The last year of working alongside Overwatch had been nothing short of life changing. Hanzo had just begun to fix his relationship with Genji - they were on better terms now than when Genji had first revealed himself. They had yet to discuss the doubts that plagued Hanzo. His intense refusal to accept forgiveness, the way he often puts himself in danger without a care for his own wellbeing. 

He looked down at his beaten body. A habit not yet broken. 

But it has gotten better. He has people he wants to see now. A drastic change to his lone wolf lifestyle he adopted after leaving the clan. He has people who accept him, not because his brother asked him to, but because they all come from a similar place. There is not a soul at Overwatch that hasn’t done something they regret. 

But it’s more than that: it’s how seamlessly each and every one of them has molded themselves into Hanzo’s life. It’s Dr. Zhou and her floating robot that allow him to steal an extra cupcake when she bakes her popular goods. It’s Angela and her forceful medical advice whenever he ends up in the infirmary. It’s Zarya and their competitive workout sessions. It’s Hana challenging him to another gaming match. It’s McCree, in their favorite spot on the roof, a bottle of whiskey or sake passed between them as they lament about their losses, their failures, their doubts. 

It’s McCree and his warm eyes that soften specifically for Hanzo. It’s McCree and his blunt honesty but sound advice. It’s McCree and his lopsided smile that crinkle his eyes, that lazy grin when they’re about to drop into a mission, or that exhilarated look when his luck runs very thin. It’s  _ McCree _ . 

Hanzo stumbles over something buried under the blanket of snow. His knees hit and his hands brace themselves on freezing ground. The wound in his side is jostled, and he lets out a pained gasp, feeling more than seeing the gush of warmth soaking into his clothing. 

It’s freezing, it’s  _ freezing _ . The snow is falling thick and heavy. If there were more jets, or anything in the sky, then Hanzo can’t make anything out past a grey blur. 

He crawls. He’s wheezing. His breaths come in tiny puffs into the cold air. He can’t feel his hands. The dragons are a buzz in the back of his mind, encouraging, pushing.

He gets another stiff crawl in before he collapses, too cold to shiver, too cold to feel much of anything. The pain in his side slowly fades away. 

Hanzo’s last thoughts before consciousness leaves him is that he realizes he is in a clearing. The trees had disappeared at some point. Not only that, a dark figure seems to be stalking towards him. 

Hanzo thinks of McCree and slips away. 

 

He wakes up three times. 

The first time was a blur. Someone was talking to him. He was fed warm soup. He slept again. 

The second time, he was a bit more conscious. He opened his eyes to see a woman puttering around his room. She was a short, stout thing with dark wavy hair. He watched her fold a blanket at the foot of his bed and set a glass of water down on the bedside table before she noticed him. 

“Oh, you’re awake!” She said, and her Southern twang did not go amiss. She smiled sweetly, lopsided. She sat on the edge of the bed, her hand reaching up to his face and for a moment, Hanzo thought she meant to touch him. But instead, she plucked a cloth from his forehead that he hadn’t noticed until now. “Don’t you worry none, we’ve been takin’ good care of you. Do you mind tellin’ me your name, hon?”

There was something oddly familiar about this woman. Hanzo would try to figure it out, but the cloudiness in his mind was coming back, and it made it hard to think. 

Luckily, the woman didn’t give him time to answer. “Pardon my manners. Didn’t even introduce m’self. Welcome to the Morricone Household, my dear. Mama Morricone here to patch ya up.” She stood up abruptly, disappearing into a side room before reappearing a few moments later. The cloth she held was now damp. 

She placed the cloth back on Hanzo’s forehead and he let out a soft moan as the heat warmed up his feverish skin. He might have been embarrassed if he was in his right mind, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

Then he remembered what she had asked of him. He drew in a weak breath, hitched as pain tensed his ribs, and said in a rough voice, “Hanzo.” 

Mama Morricone perked from her perch on the bed. “‘Scuse me dear?” 

“Hanzo,” He said again, and his eyes closed, the energy draining from him again. 

Mama Morricone laughed, and the dip in the bed disappeared. “You get your rest then, Hanzo.” 

And he did. 

The third time he woke, he stayed up. 

He was still in bed, the cloth on his forehead was cool to the touch, and he was wrapped in layers of blankets. It was this time he realized he wasn’t in the same clothes as before. He was dressed in a loose pair of sweatpants and a black long sleeve shirt with a symbol on the chest. Hanzo attempted to sit up, but his breath hitched as pain lanced up his side. 

Sitting up in a much slower fashion, Hanzo maneuvered himself to the edge of the bed and placed his feet on the cold floor. He still felt disoriented, a bit weak, like he was just on the tail end of a nasty flu. He braced himself to stand and wobbled on his feet, catching himself on a dresser. 

There was a mirror above the dresser. An old dusty mirror with a crack running across it. Hanzo found himself paler than he remembered, his features sunken in. He nearly died, he knew, and it’s miracle anybody found him. The dragons hummed in the back of his mind, pleased that he was awake.

Mama Morricone. The Morricone Household. A civilian family had taken him in in the midst of a snowstorm. He was already making plans to pay back the family once he got in contact with Overwatch when he inspected the symbol on the shirt in closer detail. 

It was like the Overwatch symbol, but colored with red, and a face in the middle not unlike the Reaper’s mask. It was with a startling realization that he recognized it; the old Blackwatch symbol. He had seen images of it, on old uniforms, particularly in photos of his brother. 

Someone under this roof has, or had, a connection with Overwatch. 

In a moment of panic, a sudden thought came to him that perhaps him ending up in this civilian home wasn’t a coincidence after all. That there was something sinister in the so-called ‘Morricone’ Household. Hanzo remembered, adding fuel to the flame, that a good chunk of old Blackwatch members ended up being recruited by Talon. 

Then the door opened and Hanzo found him reaching behind him as if he still had his bow on his back. Mama Morricone stepped through, glancing up in surprise at him standing, and smiled. 

“Well, look at you! Making a speedy recovery.” She puttered over with a tray in hand, a steaming bowl of soup that had Hanzo’s mouth watering. She set the tray down on the bedside table. “I wouldn’t stay out of bed for long, your fever was goin’ down last I checked but it’s better to be safe than sorry.” 

As much as Hanzo wanted to give in to the warm bed and eat something, he needed to know a few things first. 

“Why--” He coughed, his voice rough with sleep. “Why did you…?” 

Mama Morricone laughed. “You think I’m just gonna let someone freeze to death on my porch?” She patted the bed and this time Hanzo went willingly, sighing into the warm covers. “But also, I couldn’t get a doctor down here in this weather. So you’re just lucky you stumbled upon the house of an ol’ retired nurse.” 

She gingerly set the tray in his lap and Hanzo helped himself to a spoonful without thinking about it. He was partially certain anyhow that the food she gave him wasn’t poisoned. If he recalled correctly, he had already eaten possibly-poisoned food here while out of his right mind, so what difference will it make now?

He swallowed the soup and eagerly took another spoonful, only then for another thought to come to mind: the soup could be drugged. He tasted this second spoonful and couldn’t pick up anything out of the ordinary, but he set his spoon down after the second swallow to watch the woman in his room. 

“What did you say your name was again?” Hanzo asked, only remembering the hearty nickname she gave herself. 

“Oh, I’m Tamia, dear, but you’re welcome to call me Mama Morricone, that’s what all the ladies in town call me.” As a clearly hospitable woman, Hanzo was sure she must be a popular face. 

“I see.” He did not recall hearing of any Morricone who was previously involved in Overwatch. This woman surely fit the profile; not the best in shape, but she was muscled, and she admitted that she was a retired nurse. Maybe under another alias. 

“How are you feeling, dear?” She asked, leaning over him in a motherly way to examine his face. 

“Much better.” He might be held captive in a secret Talon base, but he was still uncertain, Tamia was kind enough that she deserved basic manners at the very least. “I should thank you for taking me in.” 

“Was no trouble at all!” She made herself comfortable on the edge of the bed. “I just gotta ask ya - how’d ya get so beat up like that? I used to be a nurse, and I’ve only seen those types of injuries from car wrecks.” 

He was having a hard time determining if she was genuine. He took a long time to answer, long enough that she raised an eyebrow at him. He couldn’t admit that it was Overwatch business. As far as civilians knew, Overwatch is still illegal. 

“If it’s classified ‘cause you’re in some secret military force, I’ll understand,” She said, throwing him completely off guard. She found his shocked face hysterical. He blubbered for some kind of reply, but she just shook her head. “Don’t try to pull a fast one on me, honey. I’m not as dumb as I look.” He closed his mouth, stricken, and began looking for signs of Talon interference. She knew, Hanzo had no idea how, but she  _ knew _ . 

She only laughed again. “It’s not everyday that some stranger collapses on our land with a bow strapped to his back. Don’t start lookin’ cause it’s not in here. I hid it and you’re not gettin’ it back ‘till you’re ready to leave. I’ve seen a lot of things in my life, Mr. Hanzo, and I know a dangerous man when I see one.” She glanced to the door, as if afraid someone might be listening. She turned to him with a sharp look and Hanzo has  _ definitely  _ seen that before. “I got kiddos here and you’ll be on your best behavior ‘till whatever team comes to get you, ya hear?” 

Hanzo nodded, jerkily, feeling like a child caught in a lie. Tamia only smiled again, lopsided, reminiscent of the lazy grin that haunts Hanzo’s dreams. 

She got up from the bed, satisfied, and when the door clicked behind her, Hanzo slumped against the headboard. 

He somehow fell face-first into McCree’s family. 

 

Of course, he couldn’t be sure. 

But everything he did find just seemed to point in that direction. The Blackwatch shirt that was most definitely McCree’s (and he ignored how flustered that made him feel) and especially how Tamia had such a resemblance to the cowboy. Her smile was much more reserved, but it was undoubtedly McCree lineage, and Hanzo was sure they shared the same hair color and freckles. 

And then he looked around the room he was placed in. It was a bedroom, but it had clearly went untouched before he moved there. Dust coated the top of the headboard, the clothes in the dresser and closet were stiff and cold from disuse. Even the clothes Hanzo wore had gotten thin and creased from staying folded for a long period of time. 

Then there were the room’s decor. Once he stood up and looked around, he found the ceramic horse figures on the shelf and a sign above the bed that read in big bold letters, “SAVE A HORSE, RIDE A COWBOY”. And even more damning, after snooping for a long while in the closet, he found a folded  _ Brokeback Mountain _ poster. 

He had taken a step back and wondered how much he knew about McCree. He knew the man loved his hiding places to tuck valuables. He always had a cigar or two in his hat, a couple flasks tucked under a pillow or behind a dresser, sometimes physical cash hidden in a tin box that Hanzo spotted under his bed. All found on complete accident based on how snoopy he could be, especially when drunk. 

Scanning the room, he wondered what valuables could be hiding here. 

First, he checked the mattress. Nothing under it, no holes cut into it. Nothing under the bed. He searched the closet from head to toe, even the pockets of every jacket and came up with nothing but lint. Then he looked to the dresser. 

McCree had gotten more creative in his hiding places over the years, but Hanzo can imagine what a teenage McCree might think was cool at the time. 

He knelt on the floor and removed the bottom drawer. Filled with socks, and when he couldn’t slip his fingers into a hidden crease, he tried the next one. 

It was two drawers up when he found a false bottom. Underwear drawer, of course. Hanzo tried not to let it get to him as he shoved the garments aside and slipped his fingers into a hidden crease. 

Hanzo wasn’t sure what he expected. Possibly some further validation that he wasn’t going crazy or died in the snow. That he really, truly, was in McCree’s old bedroom and being nursed back to his health by his mother. Maybe he wanted an old Blackwatch comm to get in contact with Overwatch - whether or not it would connect was a problem he’d face if that time came. 

But he was disappointed when he found two dirty magazines (one with a scantily clad woman on the front, the other a man), a box of cigars with only one left inside, a lighter, and a couple bullet shells. 

Sighing, he put the false bottom back in the drawer and tucked the drawer of underwear back in the dresser. There were oddly no pictures on the walls or the bare shelf. He supposed if he wanted to know more, then he’d have to leave this room. 

Hanzo paused at the door, hand hovering over the knob. Maybe he  _ was _ being deceived this whole time. That the moment he walked out this door, he’d be shot to death by waiting Talon agents. 

There were no windows in this room. He had no idea if he was in an actual house or held captive in an underground base. If this is Talon’s work, then they’re doing a good job manipulating him. But at the same time, what would this prove? 

Before he could decide, there was a knocking at the door in front of him. He paused, frozen, then awkwardly side-stepped to appear he was examining the shelf. Clearing his throat, he said, “Ah, come in.” 

The door opened and Tamia walked in, smiling sweetly at him. “We’re about to set the table for dinner. Why don’t you get dressed and come help? I know how stiflin’ it is to stay in one room all day.” 

Hanzo blinked, and nodded. “Oh, sure.” Then he realized he hadn’t showered since waking up. He must have been sweating in his sleep as he suddenly registered unpleasant body odor. 

Tamia seemed to read him. She chuckled and pointed to the other door in the room. “Bathroom’s just there. Use any clothes ya need to in the closet. Take your time!” Then she disappeared from the door as it slid close with a click. 

Giving up his fears of a Talon ambush, Hanzo did as he was told. He took his time, savoring the hot water and using the generic soaps laid out on the bath’s shelf. It wasn’t a bathroom used often, but at least often enough that they kept the soaps up to date. It wasn’t anything he recognized from McCree - a thought that immediately made him shut down any more thoughts. He did not have to think about smelling McCree while in his family’s shower. 

He exited with one of the towels wrapped around his waist and began searching through the closet. The sweatpants had an elastic band that could easily fit him, but the shirt was tighter and felt a size too small. Hanzo assumed most of the clothes were like this. He thought about McCree again and wondered about their difference in body types. He had always thought of McCree to be a fairly even match against his physique, but maybe he used to be smaller.

Even if the shirts were a bit tight, they would cover him. Then again, most of the long-sleeved shirts available were gaudy flannels. It seemed McCree owned two types of shirts: flannel or Blackwatch branded. 

He reluctantly took a flannel off a hanger, only because it was in a larger size than the shirts. He matched that with a pair of sweatpants - he didn’t dare try on the jeans - and found socks so his feet wouldn’t suffer cold hardwood floors. 

Then he slowly opened the bedroom door. He had partially come to admit that this wasn’t a Talon scheme, but it was a learned habit to be wary of new surroundings. It was the same cautiousness he had when he first came to Overwatch, half of him always expecting things to go wrong or people to turn on him. 

But this was a new situation entirely. 

The door lead to an upstairs hallway. There was another bedroom above the stairs, past the room Hanzo had been staying in, and a third room to the side of his door. The walls were lined with physical photos, not exactly a rarity, but surely going out of style as digital pictures took over family homes. This same holotech had started replacing some photos on the wall; above the stairs, there was a holopad displaying sliding images of a newborn baby. Within the last two years, as stated on a scrawled date in the corner of the frame. 

The physical photos were of a variety of what Hanzo assumed was the Morricone - McCree? - family. The older ones featured a younger Tamia, not much different now except her hair grew longer and she became a bit more heavy set in her older age. There was a family photo of Tamia beside a tall dark-toned man, an unknown younger woman behind Tamia who also shared a resemblance, and a young boy who couldn’t be more than nine stuck in the middle. 

Hanzo thought for a moment that the young boy could be McCree like he thought. The boy had a scrunched up face like taking a family photo was the worst thing that could happen to him, and he clearly hated the vest he was most likely forced into. His hair was dark and he had a mess of freckles across his face, but his skin tone was too dark for Hanzo to match it. They certainly looked similar, but not exact. 

Aside from those details, the date scrawled on the bottom of the picture didn’t match up, either. This particular photo was only taken around seven years ago. 

The next few photos were of Tamia and the mystery man’s wedding. The young boy was the ring bearer, who looked a few years younger and a great deal happier. The other woman was seen hugging Tamia and the two had a select few photos taken together. 

Hanzo had started to loose faith. Maybe he was wrong. If this was truly McCree’s family, he would be on the wall with them. Right?

Just as he was about to head downstairs, some other frames caught his eye. 

Tucked into the far end of the hallway, past his door and opposite side of the stairs, was an old frame that was much older than the rest of them. This particular photo was ripped, despite the frame covering most of the damages. It featured a much younger Tamia, whose grin didn’t quite reach her eyes, and a young boy around two years old tucked under her arms that was undoubtedly Jesse McCree. 

It was the same bright, warm eyes and a mess of freckles across his face. There was an arm extending from the ripped side of the photo, tucked under McCree and propping him up for the photo, and Hanzo assumed it was his father. 

He glanced back over his shoulder at the wedding photos. It most likely wasn’t the same man Tamia married. 

The next photo was taken a few years later, and the father is nowhere to be seen, but Hanzo guessed he took the photo. An exhausted Tamia sat in a rocking chair, a bundled baby in her arms, leaning forward to show a young McCree, around five years old, look on in wonder at it. He had a tousle of dark hair and wide, wondrous eyes. 

A third photo was propped on a stand below the first two. This one had a more recognizable McCree. Hanzo was sure, by the black t-shirt with the Blackwatch symbol on the chest, that this was when Overwatch was still a proud organization. He was posing with Tamia, an arm slung around her shoulders, his signature hat on his head, and the unknown woman from the other photos at Tamia’s other side. It took an embarrassing amount of time for Hanzo to realize that she was McCree’s younger sister.

He perused back to glance over the other frames. It did not explain who the younger boy was, or the baby on the holopad. He supposed he would find out. 

He descended the stairs and immediately heard a baby squealing. Of course the baby was here. He had little experience with children, but he guessed this family wasn’t the type to leave their baby with a stranger. 

He found the dining room easily; the stairs opened up to another hallway, lined with pictures that he had little time to examine. One wide, open doorway revealed the Morricone family all sat the dinner table, a light hanging from above and the table appearing almost too small to seat enough people. 

It was the baby that noticed him first. A small thing, about two years old, with a curly reddish-brown top and chubby cheeks. She had been playing with her food when she saw him, pausing with a baby spoon halfway in her mouth as she stared at him as children tend to do. It made Hanzo uneasy. 

That caused the woman he recognized as McCree’s sister to look up at him. Her eyes widened in surprise, then she nudged Tamia who sat beside her. She murmured something, gesturing to Hanzo, and Tamia looked up, brightening as she saw him. 

“Hanzo, you joined us!” Tamia stood up, making her way to his side to take his arm and gently lead him to the front of the table. “Everyone, meet Hanzo. Introduce yourselves, now.”

McCree’s sister smiled sweetly at him, and while it wasn’t the same lopsided grin, it stretched lazily across her face. “Nice to see you’re no longer an icicle, Hanzo. I’m Illiana, but most people call me Lana. This is Mari, she’s mine.” She pat the mess of curls on top of Mari’s head, who had lost interest in Hanzo and gone back to spreading a pile of mashed potatoes on her plate.

An older, dark-skinned gentleman sat beside Tamia’s seat. He nodded at Hanzo. “Klay.” 

Tamia seemed dissatisfied by something. As she lead Hanzo to a free seat, just next to Mari’s highchair, she addressed Illiana. 

“ _ Mija _ , can you please go get your brother?” Tamia sounded exasperated, taking a seat beside Klay and taking his hand. 

“No prob.” Illiana pet along Mari’s curls and stood up, making her way to the stairs. Instead of going up however, she cupped her hands around her mouth. 

“ _ Joelie, get your ass down here! _ ” She looked proud of herself as she came back to the table, Mari clapping her hands in delight at hearing her mother yell. Tamia only shook her head and Hanzo chuckled, feeling oddly nostalgic. 

Tamia seemed to notice then that Hanzo had an empty plate in front of him. “Go ahead dear, help yourself. There’s plenty for everyone.” 

Hanzo looked over the expanse of food and knew there was going to be leftovers. There were still enough to feed a few more people and most of the table was already halfway into their meals. Hanzo didn’t mind though, as he helped himself to what was offered. The table was filled with a decent dinner: a bowl of steaming mashed potatoes, a few cuts of generously seasoned steak, a bowl of green beans, and an opened jar of applesauce that Hanzo assumed was for Mari. 

He piled on a healthy portion of each dish and was just cutting into his steak when he heard a door slam from upstairs, following by heavy steps as Hanzo assumed ‘Joelie’ joined them. 

Once again, Hanzo could mistake him for a teenage McCree. The mess of long dark hair, freckles, and brown eyes, but there were key differences. His skin was naturally darker, his shoulders wider, he had a different shape to his face. There were many of these details that were clearly from Klay, and Hanzo could easily spot them with both in the same room. McCree’s half-brother.

The teenager paused, assessing Hanzo with a raised eyebrow. “Is that the dude you found outside?” 

“Don’t be rude,” Tamia chided. “Introduce yourself.” 

The kid sighed and rolled his eyes. “Joel.” He took a seat next to Klay, across from Hanzo. He ignored the rest of the table and began piling his plate with heaping spoonfuls of potatoes. 

Tamia sighed. She looked to Klay. “How were the animals this mornin’?”

“They’re all tucked in the barn and stayin’ warm. Peach wasn’t all too happy when I closed the gate on her.” Klay had a monotone voice and gruff exterior, but Hanzo had the impression that he wasn’t the most interesting member at this house. 

“That horse will freeze to death if you let her,” Tamia said, shaking her head. “What about Star?”

“Tucked in the hay, got the heater goin’ for her. She’ll do well to keep warm.”

As much as Hanzo felt he should only observe, he couldn’t help trying to pry. “You have animals?”

Tamia brightened. “Yes, a whole barn full of ‘em. Peachy is our youngest horse, a dumb little thing. Eastwood is our oldest.” Hanzo had to repress a snort, knowing exactly who named that particular horse. “Then we have Star, our goat. She is just about to burst any day now with a new litter. I just hope she stays nice and warm during this storm. And we’ve got our cows, a good dozen of ‘em.” 

It was smaller than Hanzo expected, but then again, he had little experience with farms. The most he’s seen was probably the ranches in those Westerns that McCree had made him watch. 

Illiana watched him then, her eyes pierced as if analyzing him. Hanzo tried not to think about seeing that look when he had first met McCree. 

“Where you from, Hanzo?” Illiana asked then, picking up Mari’s baby spoon and cleaning the handle of mashed potatoes. 

“I…” He didn’t plan a cover story for his appearance - really, he couldn’t come up with anything remotely logical - so he decided bits and pieces of his past could suffice. “I grew up in Japan, but recently began taking trips around the world.” It wasn’t exactly a lie.

Illiana hummed, scooping up a spoonful of mashed potatoes and held it up for Mari to eat. “And what made you end up a mess on our front door?”

He remembered what Tamia said about his injuries. “A car accident. It was a poor choice of me to try to drive in this weather.” 

“No shit,” Illiana said, but she had a smirk that Hanzo could easily recognize by now. She was joking. 

“Hey, dude.” Joel had taken an interest in the conversation, and tapped his fork on the table to get Hanzo’s attention. 

“Joel,” Tamia warned. 

“Have you ever read Stephen King’s  _ Misery _ ?” At Hanzo’s head shake, Joel grinned, and it was something mischievous and mean. “It’s about an author who gets in a car wreck during a snowstorm and wakes up in a stranger’s home. The stranger is a woman who’s a huge fan of the author’s work. She keeps him held captive and breaks his ankles when he tries to escape.” He paused, ominously smiling, as Hanzo processed the information. “So, you an author?”

“ _ Joel _ ,” Tamia snapped. 

“What?” Joel asked, innocently, but the ensuing argument was cut off by Hanzo laughing. A teenager, trying to intimidate a former heir of a yakuza empire? The situation was too ridiculous.

“I appreciate the warm welcome,” Hanzo said, hiding his laughter behind a cupped hand. “But Mari here would be more frightened by a baby bird.” 

That made Illiana burst into laughter, just as Hanzo was starting to wonder if he crossed a line. Tamia and Klay were equal levels of shocked, but Joel only stared at him, as if it was the first time someone had truly shut him down. Then his eyes hardened into a challenge, and Hanzo found himself staring back. 

Tamia seemed to let whatever argument she had go, letting out a slow breath through her teeth. “Joel, you’re helping me with dishes after dinner.” 

His resounding groan made Hanzo grin. 

 

Even though Tamia had Joel already helping her, Hanzo felt it was rude not to help. At Tamia’s insistence to rest, Hanzo only stood his ground. 

“Please,” He said, holding a dishrag. “Let me start to pay you back for what you’ve done to help me.” 

Her resigned smile was his answer. “Fine. Why don’t you rinse for me, and Joel can wash. I’ll dry.” 

It was oddly domestic, to be in a stranger’s kitchen rinsing off dishes. Tamia kept a small radio on the counter belting out a playlist, and she hummed along while wiping off dishes and putting them away. Joel was hasty in his washing, obviously wanting to get it done quickly, and more than once Hanzo wordlessly dropped a dish back into the soapy water when he spotted a crusty stain. Joel would only scoff and scrub harder.

“So, how long are you staying?” Joel asked, innocuously, as Hanzo dropped a fourth dish back in the water. 

The question did make Hanzo pause. He assumed he had been there a couple days already. It was hard to determine how long he might have been unconscious, but the storm outside had ceased since he arrived and left a few deep feet of snow outside the windows. He doubted trying to walk on foot right now was a good idea. 

“He can stay as long as he’d like,” Tamia reassured, ignoring Joel’s eye roll. “But if there’s someone you’d like to call, dear, we have a working phone and a connection.”

It was tempting, but Hanzo knew how risky it is to call Overwatch with a civilian phone. It could easily be traced, and even though he doubted the two drivers of the jets still lived through their respective crashes, there could be more people like them lurking in the area. Hanzo didn’t want to risk putting a civilian family at risk, especially McCree’s family. 

He shook his head. “I will make my leave when the time comes.”

Tamia showed a half smile, like she was expecting that answer. “I’d wait ‘till the snow plows come through. Or when Klay gets out there and digs a path to the road. It’s freezing weather right now dear, and a few miles until you reach town.”

Hanzo tried not to let his discontent show on his face. A few miles from town could be easy in warm weather, but he doubted he could get far with the cold and snow unless he hitched a ride. 

Which reminded him. If Overwatch was still looking for him, they’re most likely searching for a body. After his fall, it wouldn’t be a surprise if they assumed him dead. 

One more to add to that list, he supposed. 

But eventually they wouldn’t find a body. If days had passed and they hadn’t found him, they might have presumed he had gotten buried by the snow and given up their search. He could only imagine what Genji might be thinking. Hanzo had taken on the mission in Genji’s absence, after the life support in his armor began to malfunction. It was most likely a simple issue, but they couldn’t risk prolonging the mission. 

It pained Hanzo to think that Genji might blame himself. 

Or McCree. He had been the team’s leader during that mission, and he had been the one to open the door that lead to the ship’s downfall. Hanzo did not blame McCree, but he knew the man enough by now to assume that he must be hurting. 

Now that he thought about it, he wondered how the rest of Overwatch reacted to his presumed death. Until he thought he was dying, he hadn’t come to realize how much the other members had easily become part of his life. He wondered now how much he had become a part of theirs. 

He was handed a mug to rinse and couldn’t help a surprised laugh. In bold letters printed on the ceramic mug, it read, ‘Your Favorite Cowboy Gave You This Mug’. 

Tamia noticed and snorted. “Yeah. My oldest gave me that for mother’s day.” 

Prompting more detail, he asked, “Illiana?”

“Ah no, my oldest son. He’s not at the house right now.” Hanzo handed her the mug and wondered how he could pry some more, or at least get a name. 

“Did he move out?” He tried to focus his attention on the tupperware dish that was put in his hands next. 

“Somethin’ like that.” She dried off the mug and made a noncommittal noise. “Haven’t had him around for a good ten years.” 

“I see.” So perhaps the photo Hanzo saw of Jesse in a Blackwatch t-shirt was the last time they saw him. 

“But he also has a nasty habit of just showin’ up whenever he pleases. So I don’t know when he could drop by.” She smiled, as if the news that her son has been missing for ten years didn’t weigh heavily on her, and put the mug away in a cupboard.

As Hanzo handed Tamia the rinsed tupperware, he was handed another container with a crusted food stain in two of the corners. He dropped it back in Joel’s side of the sink, who huffed. 

“He’s probably not comin’ back, Ma,” He said, bitter, scrubbing roughly at the container. 

Tamia let out an even breath. “We can’t know that, Joel.” 

“We can guess.” He dropped the container in Hanzo’s sink, moving onto the next. “He disappeared after that explosion.” 

“Joel.”

“We haven’t heard a word since.”

“ _ Joel _ .”

“Ma, just open your damn eyes, Jesse’s  _ dead _ .” 

The tupperware dish clattered to the kitchen floor. Tamia glared past Hanzo to her son, who met her heated gaze evenly. This didn’t seem like the first time they’ve had this argument. 

“Your room,” She said, quiet but hot. “Now.”

Joel scoffed, dropping a dish in the sink and stormed off, wiping his soapy hands on his jeans. As his stomping was heard going up the stairs, Tamia took his place in front of the sink. 

It was then Hanzo noticed her eyes glossing over. 

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” She said, sniffling. “You must think we’re crazy.”

“I have seen worse.” Truly, this family was not nearly as dysfunctional as his own was.

“Don’t sugar-coat.” She wiped her eyes and began scrubbing the next dish, the frown a deep crease in her face. “I don’t know what to do with him sometimes.”

Hanzo nodded. The feeling was much more familiar than he expected. For years, especially after his father’s death, he took on the responsibility of guiding Genji towards the path the Elders wanted for him. A path that Hanzo had taken and thought, at the time, it was the best option for them both. Back then, he sounded exactly as Tamia did right now.

It was only later that he realized he was severely misguided. 

“Perhaps it is a case of teenage rebellion,” Hanzo suggested, rinsing off another tupperware dish and setting it in the dishrack. “Give him space and he will come around.” 

“I’ve dealt with ‘teenage rebellion’,” Tamia said, scoffing. “I just don’t want him to get into trouble like his brother.” She seemed to catch herself then, shaking her head. “Pardon me. I don’t mean to vent to ya.” 

“I do not mind.” She must have known about McCree’s background in gang activity. If Hanzo recalled right, it was the reason he was enlisted into Blackwatch. 

Another thought came to mind. As Hanzo set another dish into the rack, he asked, “If you do not mind my asking, what is your maiden name?”

She blinked at him. “McCree. Why?”

Hanzo shrugged. “Just curious.” 

 

He had been coerced into a family game night by Tamia’s valiant efforts to keep him out of his room. The only one who could escape was Joel, who had kept to his room the entire evening. Hanzo would guess this wasn’t something he’d be interested in anyway. 

Mari sat on Illiana’s lap, and Illiana allowed Mari to move the pieces for her, usually to the wrong spot, but it wouldn’t stop her mother from squealing praises. Mari found it so enticing, she tried to move Hanzo’s piece when it was within reach. 

“It is fine,” Hanzo said when Illiana apologized. “She’s simply trying to help me win.” 

Which he did, eventually. It wasn’t monopoly, but it was a game with a heavy base in luck, and his luck had been running high as of late. 

It was just as they were starting another game when Klay came back inside from checking in on the barn. Tamia had been playing his piece, but he had taken long enough that the game finished before he came back. He came in, rushed, and Tamia stood up. 

“Are the animals okay?” She asked. 

“Star’s havin’ her babies.” Klay moved fast through the house, picking up a bucket that was left by the door and heading to the kitchen. 

“Oh!” Tamia hustled to the door to get her boots on. She looked to the rest of them. “Go ahead and start another game if ya like, Klay and I will be back.” 

Hanzo stood up, the situation very much out of his experience, and hovered quite uselessly. “Do you….need help?”

Tamia laughed. “We’ve been through this before. You just stay here and keep warm.” 

Klay came back with a bucket of warm water and towels thrown over his shoulder. Tamia held the door open for him and they left, leaving the living room in silence. 

Well, silence except for Mari trying to grab the game pieces. 

Illiana lifted her up and looked out the window, and Hanzo read it clear off her face that she wanted to go with them. She glanced at Mari, then at Hanzo, and back out the window. 

“Fuck it,” She muttered. Carrying Mari, she wandered to the stairs. “ _ Joelie! _ Get down here!” 

It took a minute, but a door slammed shut and Joel made his way down the steps. 

“What?” He asked, annoyed. 

“Star’s having her babies. Can you watch Mari while I go watch?” 

“No.” 

Illiana put on a pout, squishing her face against Mari’s. “But she misses her Uncle Joelie.” Joel’s flat stare did not change. Illiana sighed. “I’ll give you twenty bucks.” 

Joel grinned. “Fine.” 

“Awesome!” She let Mari down, who immediately crawled back to the coffee table with the gameboard on top. “Her toys are in that bag, don’t let her choke on anything, literally just watch her for like, twenty minutes.” She kissed the top of Joel’s head while sliding her arm in a jacket. “Thanks, brat.” 

Then she was out the door, and Joel leaned unimpressed against a doorway. Hanzo leaned back into the couch and raised an eyebrow at him. 

A slow smile curled up Joel’s face. “Why don’t  _ you _ just watch her?”

“She’s not  _ my _ niece.” 

Joel’s smile fell. Without much else to do, he plopped onto the couch a cushion away from Hanzo. Both of them watched in silence as Mari tried, and failed, to reach a tiny pawn on the gameboard. 

“Mom didn’t want to tell me,” Joel began. “But I saw when Pa brought you in. You had a bow on your back.” Hanzo wasn’t sure how to respond, but Joel continued for him. “Are you a hunter or somethin’? ‘Cause I feel you can’t do that much with a bow.” 

Hanzo scoffed. Americans, always questioning his choice of weapon. “I can do plenty with a bow. While a traditional hunting gun is loud and close range, my bow can take out targets silently, and I can do it from the top of a building.” He immediately flinched at himself, and hastily added, “Theoretically.” 

Joel watched him, as if analyzing what he said, and Hanzo hoped this kid wasn’t as perceptive as he pretends to be. Then he said, quietly, “I hadn’t thought of it like that.” 

Hanzo let out a breath. Then it was that he noticed Mari tugging the gameboard closer so she could reach the pawn. He pointed to her and looked at Joel expectantly. 

Joel heaved a groan and stood up, folding up the gameboard and plucking Mari from the ground. He made his way to the baby’s duffel bag tossed in the corner and rummaged through it, finding a rattle that Mari took interest in, and tossing out a couple other toys on the ground. Then he let Mari sit on a pillow and shake the rattle, making a gleeful squeal at the noise. 

Joel took back his spot on the couch and looked up at the ceiling in an iconic bored teenager way. 

Hanzo figured he might as well be blunt about his curiosity. “So, your brother.” 

Joel turned his head to level a flat glare at Hanzo. Then he ran a hand down his face. “Yeah. Whatever. It’s old news.” It was unclear whether he meant the argument or the fact that McCree has been missing for ten years. 

He took the hand off his face and stared at Hanzo again. Turned his face back towards the ceiling. “It’s just, he’s been missing for  _ ten goddamn years _ . Wouldn’t that mean he’s definitely dead by now?”

“You would think.” This situation was  _ all _ too familiar. But Hanzo knew more than this family did, and he decided to spare them his own pessimism. “But it is good to keep hope. Perhaps he could return someday.” 

“You haven’t lived with her all your life.” Joel crossed his arms and rested his feet on the coffee table. “It’s always, ‘your brother saved people, respect him’, ‘your brother was a hero’, ‘your brother just got a little lost’, ‘Jesse will come home any day now’.” He turned to Hanzo, incredulous. “He has a room here and he hasn’t even been home to sleep in it. But ever since we moved here, it’s like it’s a sacred place that needs to be dusted everyday for his fateful return.” The sarcasm was thick enough to drip in those last words. 

It was an odd feeling to hear this. Hanzo felt the words before, before their father’s death, when Sojiro would allow Genji to be free and play while Hanzo was the one held to higher standards. Growing up, he constantly heard Genji praised for little effort. He could count the number of times his father complimented Hanzo on one hand. 

But then his father died, and the Elders began to praise Hanzo and berate Genji. It was a new feeling, pride of finally doing the right thing, a void that was left by a father’s neglect. But in return, it left Genji in his brother’s shadow. 

Failing to meet expectations. Hanzo knew the feeling, and Genji certainly did, too. 

It almost made bitterness rise against Tamia, but Hanzo stopped himself. The Elders knew what they were doing, using his weaknesses to manipulate him. Tamia was only a mother refusing to grieve her lost son. Her actions did not hold the same malicious intent. 

“Perhaps if she had closure, she could move on. I know how difficult it is to lose a family member.” Maybe he shared too much, but he could see the wheels turning in Joel’s head that said he was thinking Hanzo’s words over. “Also, Mari wandered into the hallway.” 

“Goddamn--Mari! Get back here!” 

As Joel left to fetch the child, Hanzo looked after him and wondered why McCree left his family like this. From the photos he’s seen and how jovial McCree usually is, Hanzo can’t imagine him purposefully neglecting his own family. 

Illiana came back ten minutes later than she promised, but by that time Mari had curled up in a chair and fell asleep. Joel had been interested in discussing various weaponry (“For hunting,” he claimed) and they spoke low to not disturb Mari. Illiana rewarded her brother with a kiss on the head, a folded twenty dollar bill tucked into his hand, and took Mari to an upstairs bedroom. 

Klay and Tamia looked exhausted but pleased, having returned a few hours later. Tamia did not hold back from telling Joel and Hanzo about the new kids. Three, to be precise, one taking her mother’s white fur, the second mostly white but he was patched in with black spots, and the other almost entirely black except from a white circle on his forehead. Star was exhausted from the birth, and they left the warm water in the barn for her to drink from. The heater would do well for the babies, too. 

They all retired to their room soon after, and Hanzo could feel his side become sore from all the movement today. He had nearly forgotten he was even injured. The painkillers Tamia gave him this morning were strong. 

She had given him two more before disappearing into her downstairs bedroom. “For the morning,” She said. 

As he laid down in what he knew now to be McCree’s bed, he could only wonder how he was going to get in contact with Overwatch. He could hunt down the Orca’s crash site - it couldn’t be far from where he landed - but there is no guarantee the pilot’s radio would work anymore. That, and he had no idea how to find it. There was a mass expanse of woods they landed in, and Hanzo could not recall how long he walked before collapsing on the Morricone farm. 

Tamia did mention a town. They must have a vehicle somewhere on the property. He didn’t feel right stealing from McCree’s family, and he supposed Tamia wouldn’t have a problem with giving him a ride into town. If the snowplows went by tomorrow, he would ask. 

If he got to town, then what would he do? There was no secure way to contact Overwatch. He supposed he could find a payphone, if any still existed, and send an encrypted message. That wouldn’t guarantee a secure connection, but it would at least notify them. But then again, it would take them hours to reach him if they already gave up a search and went back to base. If Hanzo recalled the initial ride to this area correctly, it took almost half a day. 

He sighed in frustration. It would be much easier to send a beacon from here. But he lost his own comm in the wreck, and it would be fruitless to search the woods for it. 

Turning into the pillow, he shut off his mind for a night. 

 

The next morning, he found weed in his toilet. 

He had been in the process of finishing his business when an idea struck him. He knew of gang methods where they hide weapons in toilet tanks of public businesses to fetch later. He wasn’t sure what he would find, but a small baggy of weed taped to the tank’s lid wasn’t what he expected. 

He was sure it had not been there for ten years. If anything were to be left in a toilet tank for that long, it wouldn’t be in such a good condition. No, it was placed recently, and Hanzo was sure who stashed it there. 

He put the lid back and grumped at his lack of progress. 

He remembered something Joel mentioned last night. They had apparently moved here soon after McCree’s disappearance, and by the false bottom of the drawer he found, these were the same items from their previous home. Usually when moving houses, items are typically thrown away or donated somewhere, but what would a mother do who believes their son would come home any day now?

He wondered if they had an attic. 

“Do you have an attic by any chance?” He asked at the breakfast table. “I heard some noises above my room last night.”

Tamia shook her head. “Nope. There might be an empty space? Hope some critters didn’t find a home up there.” 

Damn it. 

Later, he learned that Klay had dug a path down their driveway. It was a massive amount of snow that formed giant piles on each side of the path, dug from a home-owned snowplow. Not big enough to clear a road, but enough to clear a driveway. 

“If you do not mind, will you give me a ride into town?” Hanzo asked Tamia, now that he had that opportunity. He’ll figure out what to do when he got there. “I think it is time that I take my leave.”

Tamia smiled. “Of course. Now, take what you want from the closet upstairs, I’m sure there’s a jacket or two. I’d hate for you to freeze when you got there.” 

“And my bow?” He asked. 

Tamia winked. “I’ll get it ready for you.” 

Hanzo nodded once and made his way up the stairs. He heard Mari’s cries from the first bedroom, and Illiana trying to distract her. Possibly for a diaper change. 

It was new, however, to see his door open. It would be cause for alarm if it were anywhere else, but Hanzo pushed it open and heard noise from his bathroom. 

A moment later Joel stumbled out, pocketing the baggy of weed and pausing when he saw Hanzo. He gave a sheepish lopsided smile. 

“Don’t tell my mom,” He pleaded. 

Hanzo rolled his eyes and stepped aside from the door. “I saw nothing.” 

Joel’s smile brightened and he skipped through the door. Hanzo shook his head, suddenly hit with deja vu. Old memories of Genji as a teenager resurfacing. Hanzo felt that same exasperation. 

He made his way to the closet and began sifting through the articles. Many of the shirts were a size too small, but the jackets were meant to fit a bigger frame. Not the most comfortable, but he found the ones that stretched and set them on a pile on the bed. 

He only noticed after he set the second jacket down that Joel hadn’t really left. He hung around in the doorway, watching. Hanzo raised an eyebrow at him. 

“Are you leaving or stealing from us?” Joel asked. 

Hanzo chuckled. “Leaving. Your mother is taking me out to town later.” 

“Right.” He still hung in the doorway, his eyebrows knit together, as if he was debating to ask something. Hanzo let him think and continued sifting through the clothes. 

“You said my mom needed closure,” Joel said finally, carefully closing the door behind him. “How….How do I do that?” 

Hanzo smiled, sadly. “I do not know. She needs confirmation, that he is truly dead or still alive.” He had already planned to convince McCree to visit them again. Surely he missed them as much as they do him.

Joel sat on the end of the bed, nose scrunched up. “He’s dead. I just need to get her to believe it.” 

“Do you really believe that?” 

Joel hit him with a hard stare. “Yeah. I do.” 

Hanzo hummed. After a moment of hesitation, he closed the closet and stood above the kid. A part of him felt he couldn’t leave this unresolved, but at the same time, keep his identity a secret. 

“I know something that could help,” Hanzo began, and hovered above Joel in the intimidating way he’s perfected over the years. “But you need to promise you will not tell anyone I told you, and you are not allowed to ask how I know. Understood?” 

After a moment of bewildered staring, Joel jerkily nodded. Hanzo relaxed, and took a seat on the bed beside Joel. 

“There is a bounty out there for Jesse McCree’s head,” Hanzo said, solemnly. 

Joel’s eyes bulged like they were about to pop out of his head. “ _ Seriously?! _ ”

Hanzo shushed him and he flinched, covering his mouth. Despite his brash exterior, this kid really was just a kid. 

“For how much?” Joel asked in a whisper. 

“Sixty million.” 

“ _ Holy shit _ ,” Joel hissed. “What the hell did he  _ do? _ ” 

It occured to Hanzo then that Joel might not know of McCree’s background in gangs. He shrugged instead. “Pissed off the wrong people.” 

Joel took a long minute to sort his thoughts. He had a knuckle in his teeth as he struggled to understand. 

“So that means he’s  _ definitely  _ dead?” Joel asked, eyes wide. 

“The bounty is still active,” He explained. “No one has claimed it yet.” 

Joel seemed to deflate, then. An almost pained look came across his face and Hanzo recognized the guilt. The crushing feeling that he was  _ wrong _ . 

“How did I not know this?” He asked then, hands folded tightly in his lap. 

“It is more underground, passed along to bounty hunters.” 

Hanzo knew right away that was the wrong term to use as Joel’s eyes once again blew up, this time staring at Hanzo in horror. 

“So that means you--” He stopped mid-sentence as he remembered their deal. His hands nervously fidgeted and he stood up abruptly. “Right. Thanks anyway. I….” He trailed out the door and bolted to his room, slamming the door. 

Hanzo put his head in his hands. Shit. Now the kid thinks he’s a bounty hunter. 

Technically, it wasn’t exactly wrong. And he’ll be out of here soon anyway, if the kid tells the rest of them about him. He just hoped the sacrifice was worth trying to give closure to the hurting family. 

He met Tamia downstairs who held a duffel bag out for him. “Everything that came with you is in there, including your clothes, but I added a pair of mittens just in case. Klay is out there starting the truck, I’ll meet you two out in just a bit.” 

Hanzo nodded as she disappeared into the kitchen, and opened the front door. A burst of cold wind blew across his face and he winced. Going back out into the snow had become unfavorable, but he supposed he had no choice right now. 

He followed the dug path easily, even as the snow piles built up on the sides reached up to his chest. It was more snow than he’d ever seen before and should he have died in it, his body most likely would have stayed buried until spring. It was not something he liked to think about. 

When he found the garage at the end of the path, Klay was inside deep in the hood of the truck. It was an older model than what Hanzo was used to seeing, one of the first hover trucks. Seeing Klay already fixing something inside made his stomach twist. 

Klay looked up from the hood and shook his head. “The battery is dead. Cold must’ve killed it.” 

Hanzo’s fears were confirmed. “Can you get it running?” 

“If we had Lana’s car, maybe. But it’s back at her place.” Klay paused, his hand running through the scruff on his chin. “Mind takin’ a look upstairs? Might be a spare. I gotta do another check to make sure nothin’ else broke.” 

“I can do that.” Hanzo slung the duffel bag over his shoulder and found the stairs of the garage. The downstairs had the stench of gasoline and exhaust, but the upstairs had a musty smell of mildew. Sure enough, there was a spot on the ceiling that he tried to avoid. 

The upstairs of the garage served as storage, as Hanzo found, and his earlier idea of an attic was suddenly revived. If there were any of Jesse’s stuff leftover from their prior house, it would be here. 

He found the battery first. It was tucked into a shelf right in front of the stairs, but he took his time looking over the piles of boxes. By the way Klay cursed from downstairs, he wouldn’t notice if Hanzo was gone for a while. 

It took a bit of searching, but shoved behind a few garbage bags of old clothes, he found boxes labeled with ‘JESSE’ in sharpie. He hastily opened the first one. It was folded jeans, most of them with holes in the knees. He tossed the box aside and tried another one. This one had vests, tank-tops, and a pair of teenage-sized gloves. Some particular sayings on the shirts let Hanzo know that McCree had not changed in the slightest when it came to clothing. 

A smaller box was his third choice. This one felt lighter than the rest. He opened it to find an array of items: an old picture of a teenage McCree with his arm slung around a woman with long, white hair. He was sticking his tongue out and had his hand arranged in a ‘rock on’ gesture, as the woman rolled her eyes. There were a couple other pictures of McCree with many other teenagers, some with the woman, some not. Hanzo assumed she must be Ashe. McCree had mentioned her a few other times, naming her as one of the reasons he fell into the ganglife. By the looks of it, they were sorting out the gang right under Tamia’s roof. 

Under the pictures was a black Stetson, not unlike the one McCree currently wore. Hanzo lifted it up, inspected it. He wondered if this was the same one he wore in Blackwatch. 

Then Hanzo nearly dropped the hat as he gasped. 

Under the hat, tucked away from any leakage from the garage’s ceiling, was an old black comm with a Blackwatch symbol engraved on the side. Without thinking, he shoved it inside his duffel. When they got into town, it might be his only way to send a signal back to Overwatch. He only hoped it still worked after so many years. Comms are meant to last, but that means during battle. They’re durable to take a hit, but Hanzo does not know the effects of ten years in a leaky attic. 

With the duffel slung over his shoulder, he picked up the battery on his way downstairs. Klay was still deep in the hood, looking past the cables with a flashlight. The old battery was already taken out and left on a nearby workbench. 

Klay clapped his hands together when he saw Hanzo. “Great. Let’s get that fucker in.” 

They installed the battery and Klay slid into the driver’s seat. Hanzo stood nearby, anxiously waiting. Now that he had the comm, he felt he was so close to finally getting out of this mess. 

The truck started just as expected, and Hanzo let out a relieved breath. Then Klay tried to shift gears and let out another curse, immediately turning the truck off again and stepping out. 

“What is wrong?” Hanzo asked. 

Klay took a flashlight again and looked under the truck. “Brakes are shot.” 

Hanzo’s throat clenched. “Can you fix it?”

Klay sighed, running a hand through what little remained of his hair. “Yeah, once I order parts. But we aren’t goin’ into town today.” 

Hanzo let out a tight breath. Fuck. 

Tamia wandered into the garage then, holding a thermos of something warm. She immediately knew something was wrong as she stepped inside. “Klay?” 

“Brakes are shot.” 

Tamia frowned, looking to Hanzo. “I’m sorry dear. You’re welcome to stay longer.” She paused, puzzling over something. “Tomorrow it’s supposed to be warmer. I’ll have Lana get her car then, she lives only about a mile away. And besides,” She held up her thermos. “I made you soup to take with you, but you can have it now.” 

Hanzo took the thermos. He could never get used to what McCree called ‘Southern hospitality’. “Thank you.” 

“Let’s get our asses inside before we freeze out here,” Klay said, already making his way to the door. 

Tamia and Hanzo followed. Hanzo clung to his duffel bag in his arm, containing his one chance for freedom. Not that this situation wasn’t pleasant, but because with each passing day, he got a deeper sense of urgency to let Overwatch know he wasn’t dead. 

More than anything, he needed to speak with McCree. 

Tamia seemed to pick up on his anxiety and hung back during their walk. 

“We’ll help you get home somehow, dear,” Tamia reassured. She saw the bag on his shoulder and frowned. “I’d have to ask for that back, hon. Don’t get pouty, I’m just tryin’ to keep my family safe.”

Hanzo frowned but gave her the bag anyway. Kept a curse to himself as he watched his only form of communication slip out of his grasp. 

 

Dinner that night was tense. Joel kept shooting him odd looks and excused himself early from the table. Tamia only took it as Joel being a teenager, and Hanzo didn’t argue with it. 

He retired early to his room with the excuse that his side was acting up. Tamia helped to change his bandages and give him more painkillers before he was finally alone in his room. 

He couldn’t sleep. He was too restless with the discovery of the comm. If he could activate its beacon mode, he was sure a dropship would land tomorrow morning to pick him up. If he waited, it would be another two days until they could send someone to pick him up. 

The dragons were not helping. They buzzed helplessly, urging Hanzo to choose the first option.  _ The sooner the better _ , one said. Their worst pet peeve was unfinished business.

With a reluctant sigh, he sat up from the bed and cracked his door open. Joel had disappeared into his room right after dinner, probably finishing off that bag of weed to ease the anxiety of being in the same house as a supposed bounty hunter. Hanzo wished he had minded his own business.

He supposed if he were to sneak downstairs and find that duffel bag, he should do it now. If he guessed correctly, Tamia would have hid the bag in her bedroom. Waiting until everyone retired to their rooms would be much more risky. 

Casting a glance at Joel’s closed bedroom door, he carefully crossed the threshold to the stairs. He attempted to avoid steps he noted before that creaked, but he supposed since this was an old house, a few mistakes here and there could be excused. He was three steps down, waiting a long pause in between steps before he continued, when Mari wandered into the hallway. 

The stairs lead to an open hallway that contained the front door, an open archway to the living room, and an open doorway to the kitchen. Hanzo believed a door under the stairs was a downstairs bathroom. Mari, dressed in pink pedal pushers and chasing a yellow ball, picked it up from the bottom of the stairs. 

Hanzo froze. If he was lucky, the toddler would not notice him and turn back around to the living. But his luck was surely running out; Mari admired the ball for a moment before looking up, staring directly up at him. 

Hanzo ran through a list of excuses when he was inevitably found, but before he could act like he wasn’t trying to sneak downstairs, Illiana appeared in the living room archway. 

“Mari, come.” She held out her hand, and Mari obediently followed, looking once back over her shoulder to Hanzo, and followed her mother back into the living room. 

Hanzo let out a slow breath, hesitating a minute longer just to make sure Mari didn’t try to investigate further. When he was sure he was in the clear, he carefully climbed down the remaining stairs. The rest of the family seemed preoccupied by something on the holopad. Hanzo meant to pause outside the living room’s archway to make sure no one was exiting, but the newscaster on the holopad caught his attention. 

“ _ The wreckage of a dropship has been discovered by a nearby farm owned by the Beauregard family. The mother had been out plowing when she spotted debris in her yard. Authorities were notified and the remains of a large military-grade plane had been found under crushed trees. Authorities say it was likely an aerial attack, and had been damaged badly before crashing in the woods. No witnesses had come forward, and it is speculated that the crash could not be spotted because of the rough snow storm earlier this week. Updates to follow.”  _

Hanzo frowned. That was undoubtedly the wreckage of the Orca, and it was not good that the crash had been discovered. Overwatch was not ready to face the public just yet, and this could force them into the spotlight. He just hoped Overwatch had cleared any evidence before abandoning the wreckage. 

As he slipped down the opposite end of the hallway, he took note of a hunter’s shotgun sitting by the front door. Hanzo would guess it was to warn off creatures at night trying to hunt the farm animals. He paid it no mind and disappeared into the kitchen. 

The lights were off, and Hanzo let out a slow breath as he approached the adjacent bedroom. Looking behind him to be sure he wasn’t followed, he slipped the door open and carefully closed it behind him. 

The room was quaint and cold. Hanzo guessed it might have been an indoor porch at some point, by how the cold hardwood floor stung his feet through his socks. The room had little insulation. He did not want to be in there any longer than he had to.

The duffel bag was not anywhere immediately in sight. Immediately across from the door, there was a wardrobe that Hanzo thought was the most likely spot to hide a bag. He opened the doors and breathed a sigh in relief at finding the duffel bag. 

The contents were much the same as he had left it. His bow, a sheath of arrows, his folded but torn  _ gi _ , and the pair of plaid mittens that Tamia must have stuffed in there. Hidden beneath it all, Hanzo found the old comm. 

He pocketed it, zipped up the bag and shut it inside the wardrobe, then turned to the door, only to pause as he heard the gentle padding of footsteps just outside. He froze; there were not many hiding spots within the room. There was not nearly enough room in the wardrobe for him and the bag. The bed, however, had space beneath it. 

He slid under it with skill, freezing in place just as the door opened. Hanzo recognized a pair of slippered feet belonging to Tamia. She opened a drawer on the dresser, pulled out a few articles of clothes, and Hanzo bit his lip as he desperately hoped she wasn’t changing in there. 

She set the folded clothes on the bed, grabbed something from atop the dresser, and left the room. Hanzo let out a slow breath and counted up to a minute to be sure no one else was coming. Slowly, carefully, he slid out from under the bed and cracked the door open. 

The kitchen remained dark, aside from the cracked door of the adjacent bathroom. Hanzo silently slipped past, hiding himself in the shadows as he heard Tamia brush her teeth at the bathroom sink. 

Hanzo turned into the hallway and ducked back behind the stairs. Illiana and Mari had just left the living room, and Illiana appeared to be helping Mari climb the stairs one at a time. Hanzo bit his lip as he grew restless in place, waiting for the two to finally reach the top and the bedroom door upstairs to click shut. 

Hanzo padded down the hallway and was just passing the living room archway when Klay turned the corner and they nearly collided. Klay paused in front of him with a raised eyebrow. 

“Ah--” Hanzo floundered for an excuse. A distant memory came to mind, when running into McCree late at night in the communal kitchen. “Um…Midnight snack?”

A slow smile curled up Klay’s face. Wordlessly, he pressed a package into Hanzo’s hands and brushed past him, disappearing into the kitchen. 

Hanzo looked down. It was a bag of M&Ms.

Chuckling to himself, Hanzo climbed the stairs without trying to be careful. He had a ready excuse with evidence in his hands, now.

Finally in the safety of his room, he shut the door and pulled the comm from his pocket. 

The comm was an old, beat-up thing, but Hanzo had hope. It  _ had  _ to work. Too much had gone wrong today for this not to.

He slid the ‘on’ button. It took a moment of eerie ringing before the screen flickered on, and opened up on a list of contacts. The list was very much out of date, including old commanders and members that were not with them anymore. Luckily, the old Blackwatch comms worked similarly to the current comms. He activated beacon mode and left it on top of the shelf.

He went to bed with a smile. Finally,  _ finally  _ he could let them know he was still alive. They would find him here. If he was right, the beacon would be traced by Athena and recognized as McCree’s old comm. If McCree remembered where he left it, he might have some clue as to who Hanzo was currently staying with.

Maybe the family will reunite sooner than Hanzo expected. 

 

The next morning, Hanzo joined the family at breakfast. He had gotten downstairs and met Joel’s hard stare, next to young Mari in her highchair with a protective arm slung around her. He continued to watch Hanzo as he took the seat across from Joel, next to Klay. 

Hanzo ignored him and accepted the plate of eggs, bacon, and toast from Tamia. 

“Hanzo,” Illiana got his attention as she joined the table with her own plate. “Later today I’ll walk down to get my car. I have to make a few errands with Mari anyway.” 

Hanzo opened his mouth to reply, but Joel cut him off with an abrupt, “I’ll go with you!” 

Illiana smiled crookedly at him. “Really? My little brother wants to go shopping with me?” 

Joel shrugged, now sheepishly curling in on himself. “Just gettin’ sick of this house.” 

“Well, I’m grateful you would give me a ride,” Hanzo said, genuine. 

Illiana waved him off. “It’s not a problem. I’ve given rides to my friends so many times I should tell them to pay me.” 

“A suitable way to earn an income.” Maybe it was another wrong choice of words, as Joel’s glare hardened on Hanzo.

After breakfast, he joined Tamia at the kitchen sink. He wordlessly began rinsing dishes and she shot him a grateful smile. 

“Oh, you remind me sometimes of my Jesse,” She said, startling Hanzo into dropping a plate in the sink. 

“Is that so?” He asked, unable to think of  _ any  _ similarities between them. Hanzo was typically reclusive and hotheaded; McCree acted as if everyone was his friend and maintained a amiable personality far past what Hanzo considered his breaking point. 

“Oh yes,” Tamia continued, reminiscent. “Whenever he visited, he helped me with the dishes. Was always very thoughtful and kept his manners. But he also took on his mother’s Southern Charm.” She winked to emphasize this, and Hanzo laughed, finding it entirely too accurate. Then she sobered, and continued, “But most importantly, he had his own secrets, too. Just like you. I could never truly get into his head. And I was afraid he had involved himself in dangerous circles again.” 

Hanzo felt like the atmosphere of the room tensed, like he was being tested or put on the spot. There wasn’t much he could say. Tamia had an idea that he was a dangerous man, and he had no way to argue that without outing Overwatch’s existence. 

Tamia turned to him then, a seriously, contemplative expression on her face. “My son has made mistakes, and I realize those mistakes could have gotten him killed. I don’t know what you’re involved in, but do not let yourself make the same mistakes.” She turned back to dishes and added, “Surely you have family who understand.” 

Then she put a dish on his side of the sink as if the conversation hadn’t happened. Hanzo was left to robotically rinse off the dishes as he mulled over Tamia’s words. She must have seen McCree withdraw from them ever since he was a teenager. First, running away to lead a gang. Then, being arrested and forced to keep secrets for Blackwatch. Now, missing and thought to be dead. 

Almost without thinking, Hanzo replied in a low tone, “I have made mistakes that have caused me to lose my family.” He caught Tamia’s surprised, pitiful eyes, and continued, “But I am taking steps to redeem myself. I am sure, when your son returns, he would do the same.” 

She smiled, a little bit sad, a little bit relieved, and they fell into a rhythm in easy silence. 

They got through a good portion of the dishes when Illiana poked a head in, a solid frown on her face, and said, “Ma, can you come here for a sec?”

Tamia glanced over at her and reached for a towel. “I’ll be back, dear.” Then she followed Illiana to another part of the house. 

Maybe Illiana planned to leave early for her car. Hanzo finished off the dishes wondering where the best place to wait for a dropship could be when he finally emptied the sink and dried off his hands. Whatever it was Illiana wanted Tamia for, it had taken long enough for him to finish the chore. 

Hanzo sauntered out of the kitchen and made his way towards the living room when a hushed discussion made him pause. He stopped just outside the archway and listened. 

“--sixty million, Ma! And it’s still active! So he must be still out there!” 

So Joel decided to tell them about the bounty now. Hanzo hoped it wouldn’t backfire in his face before he had a chance to leave. That might have been why Illiana had called for her mother. 

“My god. What did Jesse get himself into?”

“But that’s not all! Hanzo told me this. And he said the bounty is passed between bounty  _ hunters _ , and he was tellin’ me all about huntin’ stuff the other day…!” 

Fuck. 

Hanzo had many ways to go about this. He could lie and pretend like what Joel was talking about had nothing to do with him. He considered himself a skilled liar and convincing a civilian family would be easy. 

But then again, Tamia was used to spotting secrets because of McCree. No doubt she had called him out on his lies before. 

Alternatively, Hanzo could make a break for it right now. But then he’d have to leave his bow behind and lose his only device to contact Overwatch. It wasn’t the smartest move. 

That left a third option. He could intimidate the family to keep quiet until Overwatch arrived to pick him up. Make them give him his bow and swear them to secrecy. It didn’t feel right in Hanzo’s gut, but it was the tactic he knew best. 

Making himself known by leaning on the open archway, Hanzo gave them all his flattest, meanest stare. “I thought we made a deal, Joel.” 

Then he noticed a valuable piece of the scene: the old Blackwatch comm, screen dark, sitting on the coffee table between the huddled family, minus Klay. He tried not to let his alarm show, and hoped inside that Overwatch had enough time to trace the beacon. 

Joel had flinched at his words and curled in on himself, fear blatant in his eyes as he saw Hanzo. Illiana had reached a hand out to hold Joel’s, keeping herself between Mari at her side and where Hanzo stood. Surprisingly, Hanzo met Tamia with an even furious gaze. 

She stood up, pointing to the comm. “What the hell is this?” 

Before Hanzo could answer, Joel began shakily pointing at him. “He’s a bounty hunter Ma! And he wants to kill Jesse!” 

Hanzo suppressed a frustrated sigh. Instead, he met Tamia’s glare head-on. “You said I have secrets. I do. Which is why I cannot tell you that.” 

Tamia’s mouth pressed into a tight line. “It stops bein’ a secret when my son gets involved.” She shook her head, waving at him with a frustrated hand. “I respected whatever you were keepin’ to yourself since it didn’t involve me and my family. But you’ve involved us now by digging through my son’s stuff. And  _ apparently  _ you know about him than his own mother does!” She fixed him with a pointed stare. “For  _ once _ , I want some answers.” 

Hanzo focused on the carpet as he said, “I cannot give that to you. Not without repercussions.” 

Tamia’s face contorted into one of betrayal, and it twisted Hanzo’s stomach. “Are you  _ threatening _ me?”

Hanzo opened his mouth to retort, but found something hard butting into his back. Turning to look, he found Klay behind him, the shotgun Hanzo saw by the door now aimed squarely at his lower back. 

Klay gestured with his head for Hanzo to move. “Get in there. Take a seat.” 

Hanzo obeyed at first to walk further in the room, all eyes of the family on him. He caught Illiana carrying Mari out of the room, who had begun to let out a pitched cry. Hanzo tried not to wince at the fact that he may have caused that by appearing so menacing. 

Even with the shotgun poking him in the back, he refused to sit, very familiar with being at gunpoint and skilled in reading limits. Klay would not shoot him, not unless he began attacking, which he has no intentions to do. 

Instead, he turned to the rest of the family and maintained his hard, intimidating expression, perfected by his years as leader of the Shimada clan. Klay didn’t want to push it, and backed off after a long minute. Impressively, his hands remained steady and he kept the shotgun aimed directly at Hanzo. 

Tamia approached Hanzo and crossed her arms. Her height meant she only reached up to his chin, but there was something uneasy about her stare, a scolding expression that Hanzo hadn’t seen used on him since he was a child. It almost made him feel silly for acting like this was a yakuza shakedown. 

“Answers,” She demanded. “Now.” 

Hanzo hesitated. Joel remained curled on the couch, now hugging a pillow as his eyes darted from Hanzo to the door. He seemed to debate running after his sister. Klay followed his wife’s actions and kept the gun steady. Tamia, a quaint mother of three and a recent grandmother, was defiant in the face of a man who had killed so many people he had lost count. 

“Knowing who I am will not bring you any closure,” Hanzo resorted to weaknesses instead. He saw Tamia’s eyes widen. “It is best that you do not know--” 

He did not expect the sudden  _ thwack _ against his arm, shocking him momentarily. Tamia’s lip was curled up now into a snarl. 

“You are avoiding my question,” She said, and Hanzo wondered what kind of retired nurse she was. “What are doing with my son’s stuff?” 

“It is best you do not know. You said yourself that I am a dangerous man. I could have you all incapacitated in seconds, if provoked.” 

Tamia raised an unimpressed eyebrow. She took another step closer. “But you won’t.” 

He couldn’t help his eyes darting away from those piercing, knowing eyes. She smiled, slow, in victory. 

“I want you to tell me all you know about my son.” 

Hanzo couldn’t think of how to begin, what he could say. The dragons unhelpfully provided him with, ‘ _ I’m actually in love with him _ ’, but he couldn’t start with that when McCree’s stepdad was currently aiming a shotgun at him. 

He was saved from having to answer. There was a loud knocking on the front door that interrupted the interrogation. Tamia seemed to pause, debating what they should do. She pointed a finger at him. 

“Don’t move or make a sound,” She said, then looked to Joel. “ _ Mijo _ , go answer it. Don’t let them inside and don’t tell them what’s going on.” 

Joel nodded once, darting off the couch and disappearing in the hallway. Tamia turned back to him. 

“When they’re gone,” She said, and began listing demands on her fingers. “You tell me all you know about Jesse. You tell me what you were doing with the radio. You tell me  _ exactly  _ how you ended up on my front porch. And I don’t want any of your manipulative bullshit--” 

“What in the hell is goin’ on in here?” 

Hanzo nearly slumped in relief at seeing McCree saunter into the room, lead by Joel who tugged him by one arm, frantically pointing at the scene. McCree had a myriad of emotions cross his face, his eyes darting from every individual in the room. When his eyes met Hanzo’s, they lingered for a moment longer.

The attention was immediately taken off of Hanzo as Tamia nearly screamed, cupping her hand over her mouth as tears filled her eyes. She burst into a run, collapsing into McCree’s chest and clinging onto him. Klay kept the shotgun aimed at Hanzo but his attention was turned mainly to the newcomer, eyes wide in disbelief. 

A moment later, Tamia backtracked and slapped Jesse on the arm. 

“ _ Ten years! _ ” Tamia scolded. “Where have you been?” 

“It’s a long story, Ma,” McCree said, his eyes flickering up to Hanzo. “Actually, we were here to pick up a friend. Thanks for makin’ sure he didn’t die.” 

Realization dawned on Tamia, who turned to stare at Hanzo in disbelief. His intimidating persona had dropped by now, and he let out the tense breath he’d been holding. Klay dropped the shotgun.

“Wait,” Joel said from Jesse’s side. “So, he’s  _ not  _ a bounty hunter tryin’ to kill you?”

McCree looked to Hanzo with a raised eyebrow. Hanzo shrugged.

“It was…” Hanzo sighed. “A long series of miscommunication.” 

Behind McCree, Hanzo was relieved to see his brother appear, Tracer beside him. Genji had no issue stepping around the family reunion to pull Hanzo into a hug, surprisingly tight and taking the breath from Hanzo’s lungs. 

Lowly, so only Hanzo heard, Genji said, “We thought you were dead.” 

Hanzo supposed they had come a long way if Genji mourned him, especially when Hanzo never properly mourned Genji all those years ago. So he nodded into the crook of his brother’s neck, understanding. 

Tracer popped up beside Genji, cocking her head at Hanzo in a playful manner. He did not miss the way she relaxed after giving him a once-over. “Glad to see you alive and well, luv.” 

“Any injuries, brother?” Genji asked reeling back to look him over. 

“A bruised rib,” Hanzo said. “And a healing wound, just above my hip. I assume from debris.” 

Genji nodded, and now that he had shown the proper amount of concern, he immediately shifted into brotherly jabs. He leaned in close and chuckled, “I can’t  _ believe  _ you’ve been staying with Jesse’s family this whole time.” 

“It did not take me long to figure out,” Hanzo sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in fake exasperation. “They are just like him.” 

A hushed gasp caught their attention and Hanzo spotted Illiana standing in the archway, Mari on her hip, who glanced over everyone in the room with disinterest. Illiana held a hand over her mouth, and Hanzo saw McCree pause mid-conversation with his parents. 

“Lana?” He asked, then his eyes dropped to the child. “You…?”

The hand hovering above her mouth dropped, and she looked to Mari. Her bottom lip shuddered as she said, “Mari, meet your Uncle Jesse.” 

She was immediately rushed by McCree, who enveloped them both into a tight hug. Hanzo could see words shared between the siblings, too hushed for anyone but them to hear, and the scene felt unnaturally touching. 

The family was tightly weaved together, especially strong now, and their little reunion filled the room with so much joy that Hanzo could see Genji and Tracer affected. Tracer particularly; her bottom lip quivered and her eyes glossed over. Hanzo wondered if she’d burst into tears. 

Tamia’s loud remark caught their attention again. “Please, stay for a while, tell us where’ve you been!” She then took notice of the outsiders, watching the display, and had the modesty to look sheepish. She took Hanzo’s hands and gripped them. “I apologize for the misunderstandin’. But you must understand what we’ve been through.” Wordlessly, Hanzo nodded, and Tamia smiled in response. 

She clapped her hands and addressed the room. “Please, everyone, stay for a while. I can go make us some coffee, tea….?” She trailed off into a question, her eyes frequently darting to McCree in a pleading look. In turn, McCree half-grinned, questioning but sheepish, to Tracer. 

She tapped her chin, as if debating, but the sly smirk already gave away her answer. “I suppose Winston won’t be expecting a report for quite some time…” 

Tamia grinned, and tugging McCree’s arm, began to drag him out of the room. “Come help me dear, I need an extra set of arms.” McCree did not argue the transparent excuse, but he did glance back, helplessly, to the rest of his team, before disappearing through the archway. 

That left the living room in an almost awkward silence. Klay had set the gun down, but he did not stop warily examining their new guests, while Joel hung tightly to his side and Illiana entertained Mari. She seemed to notice the tension and huffed. 

“We’re sorry we thought you were gonna murder my brother,” Illiana said to Hanzo. She pointed, almost threateningly to him, with Mari’s pacifier. “But we still want answers.” 

“I will let McCree do that explaining,” Hanzo said, and Illiana nodded in acceptance. 

Joel hesitantly stepped forward, pointing to Tracer. “Aren’t you that girl from Overwatch?”

Tracer smiled and nodded. “That’s me, T-racer!” She glanced to the archway, then at Hanzo and Genji, and focused back on Joel. She leaned in, as if conspiring, and said, “In fact, all of us are affiliated with Overwatch.” 

Joel gaped; Illiana’s eyes widened. 

“I thought it was illegal?” Joel asked, looking to his older sister. 

“It is, technically, but--” Tracer floundered for a moment, and dropped back into a hushed tone. “You can keep a secret, right?” 

Joel nodded, taking a step forward. Hanzo hid his smile behind a hand. Tracer always had a talent in enchanting children into her grandeur. Joel was a teenager, but his innocence was still in tact. 

“Sometimes, you just have to do the right thing,” Tracer said, looking around to make sure the rest of the family was listening. “Even if not everyone will be happy about it.” 

Joel nodded as if he understood. Illiana took a step forward and placed a gentle hand on his head. “That’s why you had Jesse’s old radio,” She said to Hanzo. 

Hanzo nodded. “It seemed like the most secure way to contact them.” 

“It worked, too,” Genji said, chuckling. Hanzo almost missed the way the three Morricones flinched at the sound of his voice. It was an odd, metallic noise with the mask on, a sound not entirely human but far from omnic. Hanzo had gotten used to it, but he supposed it was a new experience for the family. “You should’ve seen Jesse’s face when we told him where the beacon was coming from.” 

Illiana tilted her chin at Genji. “And who’re you?”

Before Genji could speak, Hanzo placed a hand on his shoulder. “This is my brother, Genji.” 

Something like recognition flashed on Joel’s face, as if he somehow understood their situation. Based solely on Hanzo’s vague advice, and missing all the details, Joel appeared to have come to some type of conclusion. 

He extended a hand out, in an odd display of manners. In a forceful breath, he said, “Nice to meet you!” 

Genji hesitated for a brief second before taking the boy’s hand. “Greetings.” 

It was only a few moments after that when Tamia entered again, McCree beside her, balancing a tray of drinks and a plate of cut sandwiches. She hurriedly set them down on the coffee table and waved them over. 

“Come, I heard it was a long ride from Gibraltar, eat!” She encouraged, and kept insisting until each one of them had picked up a sandwich. Once the newcomers had food in hand, she shoved one to Hanzo, then Joel, and each respective member of her family. 

As drinks were passed around, everyone took a seat somewhere around the room. The couch was taken by Hanzo, Genji, and Tracer. Klay claimed an armchair, Illiana settled with Mari on the floor, Joel beside her, and Tamia took a rocking chair. McCree hovered for a lingering moment, unsteady on his feet. It was the most unsure of himself that Hanzo had ever seen from the cowboy. He caught McCree’s eye, and did his best to give a subtle, reassuring smile. McCree stared at him for a long moment; his mouth slightly agape and his eyes wide. Then he was crossing the room and claiming a seat on the couch’s armrest just beside Hanzo. He rested a hand on the back of the couch. 

“So?” Illiana prompted, dangling a worm plush above Mari. “Tell us the amazing adventures you’ve had.” 

McCree offered a weak chuckle. He took a moment to gather himself. A slow, deep breath, and a sip from the steaming mug of coffee in one hand. Hanzo felt fingers graze the back of his neck. 

McCree’s tale went like this: when the explosion happened at Zurich, McCree discharged from Blackwatch immediately after. It was clear by then that they were on a slippery slope to failure. It wasn’t long after he had gotten his bearings, made it halfway to their first home in Arizona, when the bounty popped up. 

For this to be common knowledge by his family, he gave Hanzo a sharp look that he almost mistook as serious. He had enough time to feel guilty when the slow, reassuring slide of fingers across his neck allowed him to understand it as the playful jab it was. 

The bounty caused him to avoid going home, afraid it’d drag the family into his mess. He waited a few years, laid low - lost his arm in a close call of the bounty, as he showed his family, where everyone showed varying degrees of concern except Tamia. She silently sipped at tea and stared at McCree’s mechanical arm with a knitted brow, but surprise was nowhere to be seen. Hanzo supposed McCree filled her in on most of these details in the kitchen. 

When he felt it had been long enough, he found an empty home. Their old house, now owned by someone who McCree never met and doesn’t live on the old farm, sits abandoned in the desert, empty except for some new furniture McCree saw in the windows. 

He searched the state for a while, but he never guessed they most far up north. It was Klay’s idea, Tamia explained. He was from the north. And neither Illiana nor Joel had witnessed a proper winter since living their lives in a hot southern state. 

“I never thought you wouldn’t be able to find us,” Tamia said, near tearful. “We moved a couple times when you were in Blackwatch and you could always find us.” 

“I also worked with the best spies Overwatch ever had,” McCree said. “It wasn’t my doing to track you down back then.” 

So he spent the days as a freelance mercenary, without going into too much detail about the jobs he was assigned. He cast a glance at Tracer, who nodded for him to continue; then he recalled the day where his comm - a second one provided by Blackwatch after he lost the first one, which ended up being under his bed at the old Morricone house - lit up and blared an alarm that had McCree digging through his scarce belongings. It was a message from Winston, initiating a recall. 

McCree didn’t answer the recall until a year or two later, when Genji showed up and nearly dragged his ass back. There, he met some familiar faces, plus new ones. The hand on Hanzo’s neck had settled onto one shoulder, McCree’s thumb tracing soft circles into the base of his throat. It was oddly comfortable, and happened steadily enough that Hanzo almost didn’t notice. 

He  _ did  _ notice the calculating stare from Tamia, narrowed eyes just over the brim of her mug, darting between McCree and Hanzo. She caught Hanzo’s eye and smiled, slow, before taking a sip. Hanzo couldn’t explain the heat he felt gather in his face. 

McCree wrapped up his tail by recounting their latest mission. Again, he didn’t go into much detail; just that they were attacked in the air that caused their Orca to crash. He explained that Hanzo was tossed out before they hit, and that he was labelled as missing for a few days. By the way his hand tightens on Hanzo’s shoulder, his thumb momentarily breaking from rhythm, Hanzo supposed it went deeper than that. 

Joel seemed in awe of the whole thing. Illiana was clearly processing it still, but most of her attention was taken by Mari. Tamia sipped at her tea calmly and Klay just sat like a stone, watching them all on the couch. 

“Oh!” Tamia stood up suddenly, placing her mug delicately on the coffee table before tugging McCree’s arm. “I should show you your room. It’s become your friend’s recently, but I set it up for you.” 

She tugged McCree out of the living room once more, towards the stairs. Before he disappeared from sight, he looked over his shoulder and had that helpless look again. Something like guilt. 

At first, Hanzo thought it was that southern hospitality trait again - it could be considered rude to leave guests with strangers - but then Genji’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and he leaned in to Hanzo’s ear. 

“You should go with them,” Genji said. 

Hanzo gave him a questioning glance, and Genji sighed. 

“You really need to talk to Jesse,” He insisted. Then his hand fell to Hanzo’s back and pushed him off the couch with surprising strength - something Hanzo shouldn’t be surprised of anymore. Hanzo caught himself before he could stumble and awkwardly stepped his way out of the living room, just as Tracer reeled in the family with an Overwatch story. 

He carefully crept up the stairs as he heard a conversation from above. Hanzo’s old room door was cracked open, light shining in the hallway as Hanzo approached. 

“I’m sure your things are just as you left them, I didn’t touch much of anythin’ ‘cept the clothes in the closet. Even hung up your old posters.” Tamia seemed to be giving him a full room tour. Hanzo was about to interrupt when McCree spoke, voice almost delicate. 

“Ma, I really appreciate you doin’ this, everything. Letting us stay, caring for Hanzo, taking me back….” 

“Honey, I will always take you back. A mother does not turn her back on her kids, even if they are a bit thick-headed.” 

“Ma…” There was a smile in his voice. A chuckle, and, “But really, what were you thinkin’ when you saw Hanzo out there?” 

“I was thinkin’ there was gonna be a man freezing to death in my yard if I didn’t do somethin’. The bow was a giveaway that he was someone special.” She paused, and laughed. “Didn’t occur to me he’d be someone special to my son, however.” 

There was a long groan punctuated with a drawn-out, “Maaaaa.” 

“I saw your hand earlier honey--” 

“ _ Ma _ , it’s not like that--” 

Before he listened to something he’d regret, Hanzo lightly tapped on the doorframe. McCree blanched when he saw Hanzo, but Tamia brightened. 

“Hi dear, come on in.” She tugged Hanzo’s arm into the room and stood proudly next to her son, who kept glancing between them. McCree looked particularly nervous, shifting from foot to foot. “I was just showing Jesse his room. I know you’ve stayed here more than he has, though!” She laughed. “If you left anything up here dear, grab it before you leave.” 

“I will,” Hanzo said, and, “Thank you for everything you’ve done these past few days. I am sure Overwatch will provide compensation for your help.” 

“Oh, don’t worry about that, hon.” Tamia looped her arm with McCree’s, looking up at him adoringly. “I already got my compensation.” 

McCree relaxed, just slightly, in his mother’s hold and returned a pleased smile. 

Somewhere downstairs, Mari began to cry. Tamia started, breaking away and heading for the door. “Lana might need some help with the baby. Why don’t you show your friend some of your trinkets?” She gestured vaguely to the shelf, then sent a wink to Jesse as she stepped out the door. 

“Ma--” McCree began, but floundered for something to add. 

Tamia paused in the doorway, looking back at them with something like a coy smile. “I’ll be back.” Then she was gone, clicking the door shut behind her. 

There was a drawn-out, awkward pause, before McCree cleared his throat. “Are you, uh. Doin’ alright?”

Hanzo blinked. “Oh, yes. I am a bit bruised, but I should recover.” 

“Good, good.” McCree’s eyes darted around the room, looking anywhere but Hanzo’s face. “They treat you good?” 

“I have no complaints of your family.” 

“Even when they held ya at gunpoint?” 

Hanzo saw McCree relax as they settled into familiar banter. Hanzo chuckled. “Yes. It just shows how protective they are of one another.” 

“They sure are.” Even as the joking tones made the atmosphere lighter, it did little to mask what went unsaid. McCree’s hand clenched and unclenched, and he scrubbed at his jaw as if he wanted to say something. Another pause took place, and Hanzo could see what McCree easily hid from the rest of them; he was exhausted. There were deep bags under his eyes and his smiles today were rarely the same, lopsided grin Hanzo had gotten used to seeing. 

As the silence stretched on, McCree only grew more restless. His feet shifted in place, and his eyes frequently darted to the door, as if he was about to make a getaway. Then Hanzo noticed his breaths coming in short bursts, the eyes that refused to settle on Hanzo growing glossy, red. 

“McCree,” Hanzo said, quietly, reaching a hand out to rest on McCree’s shoulder. The man almost flinched. “Jesse.” 

Then McCree - Jesse - seemed to give up on whatever resolve held him back. He surged forward, arms circling Hanzo’s middle and squeezing tight, face buried in Hanzo’s neck. His breath shuddered down Hanzo’s back, and as Hanzo gripped Jesse’s shoulder loosely, he felt the man shake under his hands. 

The embrace had Hanzo’s ribs complaining, but he ignored it for now. Instead, he ran his fingers through the short hairs on the nape of Jesse’s neck, in what he hoped was a reassuring way. They stayed in that embrace for a while, until Jesse had calmed down to small sniffles. 

He turned his head so his cheek rested on Hanzo’s shoulder. “‘M sorry.” 

Hanzo couldn’t see Jesse’s expression from the angle, so he asked, “Sorry?”

“It was my fault.” Jesse turned his face back into Hanzo’s throat and his voice was slightly muffled as he continued, “I opened the door like a moron and that caused us to crash. For…” His arms tightened around Hanzo. “For us to lose you.” 

“You could not have predicted that to happen,” Hanzo said, his fingers continuing to lazily twist Jesse’s hair. “We were going to crash either way.”

“I  _ know _ , but…” Jesse floundered, struggling to put words to his thoughts. “If I didn’t we--we might not’ve….You….” 

Hanzo hushed him, tilting his head to rest it atop Jesse’s, his hands petting down the length of Jesse’s scalp to the base of his neck. “Breathe.” 

Jesse did as he was told. They sat together longer, until Jesse had calmed down a second time. He retracted from the embrace, coming away with red, puffy eyes and glistening cheeks that made Hanzo’s heartache. Jesse took a sleeve and wiped it down Hanzo’s neck. 

“Got snot all over you,” He teased, weak in his croaked voice. 

“You too,” Hanzo replied, using his own sleeve to wipe off a trail of tears from Jesse’s cheek. 

Jesse abruptly gripped his wrist and turned his face into the palm of Hanzo’s hand. He closed his eyes and breathed, slowly, a relaxed juxtaposition to Hanzo, who felt like his nerves were on fire. His eyes were wide and he watched, waiting, to see where this would lead. 

The silence hung like thick smog. Hanzo felt Jesse’s breath tickle his hand, could feel his scruff by his wrist. Jesse’s chapped lips pressed noticeably into Hanzo’s palm and Hanzo felt his head swirl at this proximity. They’ve shared a hug or a shoulder pat, and sometimes they leaned into each other when alcohol was passed between them. But this was a new kind of intimacy. 

Hanzo was startled from his thoughts as Jesse spoke. “We thought you were dead.” His face had turned so his words weren’t muffled, still leaning into the hand on his cheek, his eyes shut. 

“I figured as much.” 

“We tried searching before another ship came to pick us up,” Jesse continued, distant. “Your dragons kept the rest of us from worse injuries. So, thank you.” He sighed. “It was snowing fierce by then and it was impossible for us to do anything in the cold. So after the ship picked us up, we stayed nearby until the storm passed. Then searched again. But we couldn’t find anything.” It was almost like Jesse wasn’t talking to Hanzo specifically, but just distantly recalling a story. “Angie said you mighta been buried. I didn’t want to believe what she implied. I just…” He took another deep breath, shaking. “I just kept thinkin’ of all the things I never said. I didn’t think I’d get a second chance.” His eyes opened abruptly, making Hanzo blink in surprise. 

For a moment they stood staring at each other. Hanzo began to think that the red flush on Jesse’s cheeks weren’t from the tears he was shedding earlier. Hanzo licked his lips, not missing the way Jesse’s eyes darting down to the motion, and spoke. 

“And what did you want to say?”

Instead of answering, Jesse ducked his head to close in on Hanzo. Jesse’s lips ghosted over his, a last second hesitance, before Hanzo closed the gap. 

He tangled his hand into Jesse’s beard, the other into his hair. Jesse spread his palms on Hanzo’s back, pressing them closer, impossibly close. The kiss had a burst of hard-pressed lips, taking and taking, a mix of teeth and tongue. A kiss for  _ I almost lost you _ . 

Slowly, gradually, the kiss slowed, lazy presses replaced hunger, becoming an easy reassurance.  _ I’m still here _ . 

When the kiss came to a natural end, they parted but stayed close, heavy breaths heating the small space between them. Hanzo was not quite ready to let go of the embrace, and it appeared Jesse wasn’t, either. 

Hanzo began to laugh. At Jesse’s curious look, he explained, “I think we have done this backwards.” 

“Whatcha mean, darlin’?” He adjusted himself to press further against Hanzo, as if trying to reassure him of any doubts about their new, delicate relationship. 

“I believe I am supposed to meet your family after we start dating,” Hanzo said with a coy grin. 

Jesse huffed a laugh, pressing a chaste kiss to Hanzo’s lips. “We’re backwards people, sweetpea.” 

“I suppose you are right.” 

Hanzo accepted another sweet peck of lips, followed by another, until they were backed against the dresser as Jesse trailed kisses up the bridge of Hanzo’s nose. Hanzo pushed him back, failing to hide his amused smile, and found himself admiring the lovesick goofy grin Jesse wore. Hanzo could feel his face flush at seeing that expression aimed at him. 

“You are a ridiculous man,” Hanzo said, without malice. 

“You love it.” Jesse winked. 

Hanzo pressed a kiss to his nose. “I do.” 

Jesse’s smile softened, and he leaned back into Hanzo’s space, this time comfortably resting their foreheads together. “To think, I could’ve missed out on this.” 

Hanzo shushed him with a finger to the lips. “Let us not dwell on what could have happened, and celebrate what did.” 

Jesse sighed. Swallowed thickly - glanced around the room, settling first on the bed, the dresser, then the shelf of odd trinkets - focused back on Hanzo, and nodded. “Alright, yeah. I hear you.” 

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you like way i characterized the family, i had a real fun time giving them all their own personalities and backstories. a lot of stuff that i wanted to work in didn't make it, which gives me an idea to make a companion fic. what do you guys think?
> 
> Do you enjoy my work and want to support a fic writer?  
> [Buy me a coffee!](%E2%80%9Cko-fi.com/voidghost%E2%80%9D)


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